


wind thick on your face

by peterspajamas



Series: Half Angel Baby and Half Demon Dad [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baby Jack Kline, Gen, Nightmares, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Has Powers, Sam Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterspajamas/pseuds/peterspajamas
Summary: There aren't many ways to phase Sam Winchester; he's fought the devil, brought people to life again, become single parent to a newborn nephilim.These dreams he's having are doing more than just phasing him.
Relationships: Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Series: Half Angel Baby and Half Demon Dad [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156034
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	wind thick on your face

**Author's Note:**

> ! The next part! This one is (i guess) foreshadowing style stuff, we'll return to our regularly scheduled slice of life by the next one. i actually am so excited, it's going to be so domestic and sweet i ajnhfikdfvkdfgrfg i cannot wait.
> 
> thanks to milo for the beta!

Mornings taste like mouthwash, coffee, sometimes cold pizza. 

Afternoons, at least during winter, taste like rain. It is raining outside right now, cold seasonal rain. When is it? What season are they stuck in? Sam can barely remember.

The chair Sam got from Carol (Carol, from the parents library group, who has his number now) is sitting next to the fire, but he’s on the ground. His shoulder is sinking into the carpet and his cheek is resting on the floor, Jack in his line of sight. He’s crawling across the floor, each step like its own individual  _ ta-da _ . 

Sam raises his eyebrows. Jack stares at him, on his hands and knees. Then, he promptly faceplants, legs flailing. Sam jumps up to rush forward, head bumping on the edge of the armchair. Jack’s still on the floor, face trembling. “Hell,” Sam says, frantically checking out the top of his head. 

It doesn’t feel caved in. Or broken. 

“Are you alright?” Jack’s cheeks wobble with suppressed tears, and he gasps out a sob. Sam reaches around himself for the pacifier. Jack rocks forward, smearing his cheek down Sam’s shirt as he starts to cry. “Shit- don’t worry, I’ve got you. Sammy’s got you, pumpkin.” 

They stand up, firelight heating Sam’s back. “Shhh.” In his arms, Jack’s relentless sobbing breaks off. 

Sam frowns. This isn’t right. He doesn’t stop crying like that. 

When Sam presses the binkie into Jack’s mouth, it falls right out. His mouth is golden. Glowing. The light enters Sam’s eyes, scraping his optic nerve raw with the  _ brightness _ . 

He drops Jack as he gets hotter, hotter, jumping back. He lifts his palms, checking them in horror. They are bright golden and beginning to char, smeared with magic. His hair-  _ their  _ hair, it’s all glowing golden. The fireplace’s heat rushes through the room. 

Hotter. 

Sam screams. 

Jack’s light dies, the magic disappearing. Sam walks into the fireplace, trying to scramble up the brick. It’s in here! The danger is trying to come in through the fireplace. He  _ knows  _ it. It isn’t Jack. His head knocks onto brick. The danger is right there, he can touch it, taste it. All his senses are scattered; just out of sight. Sam scrambles to watch, and he sees it, glimmering; dark, he  _ sees  _ for just a moment-

His alarm clock blares madly at his side. He opens his eyes, mouth falling open in an expression of wordless terror. His chest is  _ heaving _ . 

Sam stares at Jack. He’s never woken by the alarm.

For the first time, Sam wonders why that is. 

* * *

Part of the fun of having a baby is when he naps. Sam uses the time to watch a show, usually, or clean some of the worst mess up. But today he’s so tired, it’s like he’s begging Jack to sleep so he can follow him into bed. Instead, he’s parading around in his new plaid jammies. “Naptime,” Sam says, blinking at him. 

Jack crawls away. “Nope,” Sam says, grabbing him by the belly. Jack giggles, waving his arm. “Coming with me.” 

He had the worst night of sleep. Nightmares- bits and pieces of his life strung up in the most horrifying ways. This one hadn’t been so bad, but he’s freaked anyways. Jack settles as Sam makes the long walk back to his room. He gets stationed in the Pack n Play, eyes drooping as he begins to drift off. 

A tiny, exhausted sigh escapes his lips; his eyes close, and Jack is out like a light.

Somewhere along the line, Sam thinks, this is a sight that became so familiar he could draw it. He gets into his own bed, crawling under the covers. He has sweatpants on; not jeans, so sleeping won’t be much of a chore. 

Looking at them, they’re like carbon copies. Sam, snoring softly with his head smashed into the side of the pillow, and Jack, who’s in an identical pose. 

Only one of them is sleeping soundly. 

Sam’s dream is almost enough to make him feverish. Desperate. 

_ Noise crashes down on his eardrums, drowning out the world. Matching cuts on both of his palms drip blood onto Jack’s belly. He’s wailing. Sam wipes the drops away, forcing himself forward. Wind is wildly blowing, smacking trees against each other. A tsunami of rain drenches him from the sky. It’s pushing him further from Jack, his hair whooshing back. _

_ Sam is cold. Soaked through. “Jack,” he says, threadily, one hand scratching at his face. “Jack, you need to- Jack!”  _

_ Lightning sets a tree alight. Sam is watching it burn around him. Another bolt strikes the earth, thunder raining around them. _

_ Jack is a candle. Glowing from within. Sam swallows on a dry throat, watching his kid squirm, tears falling like the clouds above, like the bolts of lightning thrashing on top of them. Electricity runs up his feet, twitching in his legs. “Jack,” Sam says, again, and- _

He doesn’t know what the dream is telling him. Sam slowly lifts his hand; it’s clean. His legs feel wobbly, but not from old lightning. From nerves. His jaw tics and he stands up; sits down again, his legs are wobbly. 

“What is it supposed to... “ Sam stares at Jack’s sleeping face. “I don’t know what you’re turning into,” he says, voice low. 

He snorts softly and rolls over. Sam smiles helplessly, turning his hands over. He can’t get the image out of his head: 

A storm, screaming along with a baby, the red of his face the only color in the scene. The rest is so dark that it frightens Sam. So colorless that he starts to think he’s inside of a void. 

Sam’s not an idiot, or naive, no matter how Dean can treat him at times. He knows the stakes, the danger of holding Lucifer’s child and telling a woman at the park that it’s his. He knows what kind of power Jack holds in his closed fists like rosebuds. He stands up, leaning against his dresser. He knows what that dream felt like. 

If he isn’t careful, Sam is going to cry. He shoves his fist in his mouth, chewing on his knuckles. Should he tell Dean he’s having them again? Sam lets out a breath, shivering. The lightning, the storm- it’s his. His monster coming back. Why is that? Why is it, that now that he feels alive again, he’s being taken over? They’re controlling him. One day, he’s going to pass out, drop Jack, because the visions are controlling him. 

Sam takes another look at his kid. Dean’s nowhere near able to take care of him, not even willing. So when Sam is bedridden, when he is a shaking mess, played like a puppet by someone else’s blood in his veins, who will Jack have? “I love you,” he whispers, mouth dry when he shuts it again. 

Sam puts on new socks and pajama pants, with a big sweatshirt- and big, for someone of his size, is  _ very  _ big- over the top. Dean’s been fucking around in the shooting range all day, so he’s alone in the kitchen. He drinks some hot cocoa, but his stomach churns it up and it’s useless at making anything better. 

So. His powers are coming back. The evil is returning, and it’s returning with Jack. Sam rests his eyes on the door leading to his room, focused closely. If he thinks hard enough, and he usually does, he thinks too hard, really, it’ll open. If he thinks hard enough, it will open. Sam is a thinker, he cannot take his mind off of anything. Blessing, curse, freaky, he doesn’t know what it is. If he thinks hard enough, though, the door will open. If he thinks hard enough. If he thinks hard enough.

The hinges creak. He can see the bedspread. He can see Jack.

Sam’s eyes are glassy. His eyelashes are wet. 

In one, quick, agitated movement, he returns to his room. This isn’t something he can tell Dean. Is it? No. No, it’s not, Sam is alone in this one. He rests his hand on his ribcage, trying to breathe. “This is going to turn out fine,” he says into the Pack n Play. 

Jack continues to sleep. Sam hopes his dreams are better.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, check out my [ tumblr ](https://arsonsamwinchester.tumblr.com/)if you want to send prompts!
> 
> anyway a kudos or a comment is always appreciated <3 <3


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